multiversallogs | A day at the market!

Entry tags:

A day at the market! :: OPEN

Who: OPEN, NPCs if needed.
What: A guided trip to the Aspic Bazaar
Where: Aspic
When: Coardi ~~Wednesday~~ Morning
Notes: OOC post here.

It's spring in Baedal and the Bazaar in Aspic is full of life. The sun shines on colourful buildings, bleaching tentweaves draped over market stalls. The air is full of shouts and animal noises, customers haggling with merchants and tradesmen striking deals. Children of different species rush back and forth, unattended in the crowd.

There are a lot of things on display in the market. Local produce and wares sit next to strange and exotic bleed-through goods, all of which the sellers are quick to guarantee the genuineness and legality of. Less honest characters also visit the market, it is generally known as an official stomping ground for one of the city's more notorious criminal enterprises. The city is aware of this, of course, and while Militia presence here is not as keenly felt in other place, it may be noticeable in the cares some people take.

It's still considered a safe place, or as a safe a place full of haves and havenots in a strange city can be. It's certainly considered a safe enough place to send newcomers for quick introduction to local sights and economics.

The (more recent) residents of the Valhalla Inn and anyone on the CeidaryBlue523 Node have been encouraged to visit the place. They have also been encouraged to not go alone.

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It's still spring in Baedal but local greenhouses keep the grocery quarters stocked with fresh produce. The stalls here are carefully shaded and full of vegetables, fish, bread, spices and things that have been pickled. Bottles of local wines, ales and ciders appear next to more exotic bleed-through non perishables. Further off, live animals bleat, squawk and otherwise complain.

A whole part of the market is dedicated to food that has already been cooked. Kebabs, waffles, sandwiches, stews, ice creams and beverages among many other things can be purchased in the stalls here. It smells of spices and coffee. Some tables and crates have been thrown together here and there to offer some seating.

A large section of the bazaar is dedicated to trading objects, local and foreign. Rolled up bundles of fabric, strange crystals, plastic toys, cookware and glasses are among the thousand upon thousand objects available for sale or trade.

For the less savoury individuals or simply for those who prefer to avoid mingling with crowds, there is no shortage of cul-de-sacs and alleys too narrow to fit stalls without serious fire hazard.

In the tall basement of a dilapidated warehouse somewhere in the outskirts of the market a rowdy and colourful crowd has gathered. They are there to watch and bet on the cockatrice baiting organized by the Terrier's Sharps. It's perfectly illegal of course, but simple enough to find. The Sharps are keen to spot and invite newcomers.

There really isn't anything specific he needs, but Sebastian had been meaning to explore the city and is pleased to follow the advice of the Inn employee and take Velcro with him on a tour of the market. Even when he was still in Britain, open-air markets were a treat and he takes to Aspic Bazaar with ease.

As he makes his way through the market, he stops at various fruit vendors to ask their prices or to learn more about what they're offering. One in particular gives him samples of something called a "bullock's heart". While he's adventurous, the fact that the fruit looked too much like its namesake put him off. It was heavy in his hand, dense as a real heart, with a leathery red skin, but when the merchant split it and offered him a piece of the pulp, the flesh was pale and tasted sweet in an exotic way he'd never experienced before.

With a surprised and joyful laugh, Sebastian navigated the purchase of one of the fruits and promised to return some other time to try whatever was brought in next week.

Edited 2011-05-11 02:25 (UTC)

Cassandra was pretty sure she had made several mistakes today. The first was going to market. The crowd was enormous, much bigger than she had expected. She supposed she was still used to the sparse populations of worldwalkers in Rowan or Willaknapp. The second mistake was wearing her Rowan clothes, which were starting to get a little worn down. The third mistake was allowing a total stranger to escort her.

Of course, she didn't know anyone in this world terribly well, but she felt a bit ill-at-ease at the moment. He had been polite enough to go with her and for that she was grateful, but still, as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, several thousand questions were stirring and she didn't know quite the polite way to ask them.

Then again, Cassandra wasn't known for being polite.

"So where do you come from?" she finally asked him.

At least Mal is clean-shaven and washed -- and he will never not bath every night if he can help it because sometimes he still looks down at his hands and sees rusty red and mud dried into the grooves of his skin -- with neatly pressed clothes. It's just too bad his clothing choices are a faded and drab olive-grey shirt with black pants but at least it makes Cassandra's clothing look much ore whimsical and bright in comparison.

The medic has one hand shoved deep into his pocket while his other hand keeps hold of the strap of his medical bag and it's this shoulder he shrugs, smiling at her. "Seattle Washington originally; s'a city like this one and the market is similar though I was never allowed down in it."

Mal's eyes move steadily around them, watching everything that moves too close or might be armed. "Haven't been there in two years, anyway. And what about yourself? S'not a style of dress I'd find anywhere on Earth."

"I'm from Earth," Cassandra replied with a slight shrug. "These clothes, however, are not." Sighing, she ran a hand through her wild, untamed curls. How many times had she told her story now? It was getting ludicrous. "This is the third time I've been abducted to another world. The first time was two years ago, to a place called Rowan. The second time was about ten months ago, to a place called Willaknapp. These clothes are from Rowan."

She actually was rather fond of them. There was something delightful about being able to wear trousers. They were easy to move and run in, less clumsy than her old chitons. The only problem was that the corset did not leave quite enough to the imagination, but Cassandra had moved past caring about that too much.

"I've never heard of Seattle," she mused. "But judging from your accent, I'm guessing you're not English. I've met a lot of English people. Are you an American?"

"Not having a bit of luck on that front at all, are you?" Mal's expression reads mildly amused and cautiously horrified all at once, though he smooths it out to give her a reassuring smile as he hitches his bag more comfortably against across his shoulder.

Dark eyes slide slowly across her face and over her shoulder (He keeps his gaze firmly trained on the neck or above whenever he looks at her) before they widen slightly as a ...something ...lumbers away behind her carrying a load of carpets.

"Uh." He utters and then his eyes shoot right back to her face. "I am. Actually. Yes. I mean, I've been to England but yeah. American. What, uh, where are you from if it's not to presumptuous to ask, Miss?"

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder, spotting the carpets. Quickly, she stepped out of the way, ducking her head just in case. She knew that the marketplaces back home had been just as busy, but she had never actually been in one of them before. She had thought about it, dreamed about what it might be like to walk among the people. But thinking about it and dreaming about it had never really made it a reality.

Yet one more reason she was glad to be free of Troy.

And as that thought flashed through her mind, he asked her where she was from.

Well, this was fast becoming one of her favorite parts of meeting new people. Cassandra sighed wearily. "I come from a city to the west of Persia," she mumbled. "Called Troy."

Hey, a question asked is politely returned; Cassie has only herself to blame.

Mal reaches out a hand to hover about her shoulder in case steadying in the jostling crowd is needed as he quickly and quietly goes over this information in his head, his expression politely blank and calming.

After a few seconds he mentally shrugs; he's held a rational conversation with a magical peacock at dinner a few nights ago and he's more then a little sure he'd seen a bright red hell-spawnish creature wandering around the Inn -- walking classical literature shouldn't pose a problem to his already (obviously) unstable mental health, right?

He smiles carefully, hand still hovering protectively, voice holding only the slightest lilt of question. "Your English is certainly better then my Greek, then."

Her reaction to his hand was automatic. She flinched, pulling away, just out of his reach. Of course, he probably didn't mean her any harm, but Cassandra had problems with being touched. Especially by men. Especially by men she didn't know. Especially by men she didn't know who hadn't asked her permission first. All of this flashed through her mind in a second, but she quickly relaxed, offering what passed for a slightly apologetic look.

That was, until his crack about Greek.

"I don't speak Greek," she said, keeping her voice even. "The Greeks always referred to us as barbarians. They thought our language just sounded like someone going 'bar-bar-bar.'" She rolled her eyes. "Most of them were fools."

Well, at least he hadn't asked her if she was that Cassandra.

Yet.

Quickly treading back three steps, Mal spreads one hand wide while pressing the other to his bag (even in surprise he has trouble with the thought of thieves stealing what goods he has in the tiny medic's satchel). Still, he smiles again -- he hasn't smiled this much in months and it's making his face ache in ways that's just sad to think about -- attempting to convey understanding.

"I'm sorry; that was downright stupid of me to joke about. I wouldn't like it if someone made a reference about myself speaking like a Kraut with only half-remembered schoolhouse knowledge to fall back on."

A deep breath. "How about we forget what a jerk I was, we see if we can find something even close to tobacco in this mess of stalls for me and something interesting for you. Deal?" Silently he includes an offer of making sure nobody else gets close enough to make her flinch while keeping his own one-pace distance.

Cassandra allowed a slight smile. She found his clumsy kindness endearing, enough so that she was willing to overlook his attempts to touch her. As for the commentary about her speaking Greek...well...she really had no idea what a Kraut was, but sensed that he had somehow been the victim of such misunderstandings in the past. She had the capacity to forgive. An oddly human flame still smoldering inside.

"All right," she said. "But there's something I need to know first." She flushed a little. "What is tobacco?"

"It's a plant. You dry it and then roll -- well, here." Mal flips open his satchel, digging about in it until he pulls out a slightly crumpled rectangular package with 'Lucky Strike' emblazoned on the side. With quick, sure tap to the bottom, one cigarette pokes out and Malcolm offers it to her with one hand even as he taps out the lighter and juggles that into his palm with the other (talent for sure but one he'd taken to in Bastogne. One less hand fiddling with cigarettes was one less hand flailing around for longer then it had to in the cold).

"Some people just tap it into a pipe but cigarettes are more common now'a'days. You light it up and breath in, hold the smoke in your lungs and mouth a moment before breathing it back out." He quirks a smile. "It's therapeutic as anything."

She took the cigarette curiously. "Therapeutic," she repeated, testing the word out, letting it roll off of her tongue. "Meaning...it makes you fell good?" Well, that seemed bizarre. Cassandra had been around plenty of fire in her life, inhaled smoke. She had never found that terribly comforting. Then again, in those instances, she had been afraid for her life. Perhaps she simply hadn't taken the time to consider the smoke. Context was a heavy thing.

"I've never heard of that, although, now that I think of it, I seem to recall some of the western tribes smoking a hookah. I think it's a similar sort of thing." Still, she hadn't heard the word tobacco in that context.

She glanced up at him, her eyes dark and appraising. "Lucky Strike? What makes them lucky? The fact that they make you feel good? Therapeutic?"

Jack is just wandering the crowd when he spots a man with a dog just casually drifting through the way, and well. There's something different about him. For one, the dog. For another thing, the way that he carries himself, the way he's navigating the crowd. Something about that signals to Jack that the other man had training of some sort. And for another thing. The way that he's interacting with the fruit vendor is probably the most adorable thing he'd seen since wandering over to this market. Jack decides that he needs to meet this man, and so he sidles up beside him.

"Hey there," he says, with a grin at the other man. "Find anything you like?"

"Whatever this is, I like it," he says simply. Sebastian never met Jack in Bete Noire, but he's seen this man walking through the Inn and he's comfortable enough with that to be willing to make small talk. His past training isn't apparent just in the way he stands, but how he keeps a part of his attention on the crowd at large and a slight weight to his jacket pockets -- one contains change, the other a small flicknife. Magic may no longer be an option for him, but it's just unnatural to be unarmed.

"Have you ever had one?"

Mina absolutely hated the dress she had been given upon arrival in Baedal. It wasn't the fact that it was a dress so much as the fact that it left everything exposed: The tattoo on her left shoulder, the old pirate brand on her right arm, not to mention more than a little cleavage She looked, she thought, like a patchwork doll, one of those whorish dolls that European gentlemen gave to ladies when they had certain intentions. The first order of business would definitely purchasing herself some new, tailored suits.

That was, of course, assuming that they had tailored suits in this Godforsaken place, but Mina wanted to be optimistic.

As she strolled through the stalls, becoming increasingly less optimistic, she thought of the old trading posts in the Caribbean. In general, she had an odd bit of sentimentality for the Caribbean above all the other places she had traveled in her two hundred odd years. She supposed it had something to do with Anne and Jack and the fact that they had become a family on the waters of the Caribbean.

Thinking of Anne and Jack now, however, was a bit too depressing, so Mina decided to focus her senses on suits and predator's taint instead. She would happily settle for finding either of them. She would happily settle for simple company. Mina was never at her best when she was alone. She thrived with others.

Lex is quickly acclimating himself to Baedal, or at the very least, doing his best to fit in and pretending like he does. He has already secured himself a job and is currently house hunting. The day when his two weeks' stay at the inn will come to an end is fast approaching and he needs to be ready to move into one of the living areas he has been eying.

Of course it wouldn't do to move in completely empty handed. He stops in front of a large selection of vases, picking up one made of dark brown clay and turning it over in his hands.

Edited 2011-05-11 13:00 (UTC)

Jack shook his head at the question. "Can't say I've had whatever that is exactly before, no. I've possibly had something similar at some point down the line, though." He grinned at the other man, winking slightly, completely oblivious to the fact that he could have recognized him from anywhere else, considering this was the first time Jack himself had seen this man. "I've had a lot of fruit, over the years, as it is," he said, in a tone of voice that pretty much meant he was as much making a bit of innuendo as he was actually being honest with him, there.

Sebastian examines his purchase and since he's unable to split the fruit like he would with an apple, it's quick work to slice it in half with his little pocketknife. It's clear that he's comfortable with using the knife and is able to do so with just one hand.

"Care for half? I'm still getting used to anything beyond tinned pears," he says while offering a piece to Jack. With the knowledge that he'll probably have at least a little work with Hellsing to help him settle in, Sebastian is comfortable being generous enough to share his food.

"Thanks," he says, taking it from the other man with a smile. "And ouch, really? I've done the whole canned fruit, canned food diet, and let me tell you. Once you are used to having things fresh, you're never going to want to look back."

He waits until Sebastian's put away his knife again before putting out a hand to the other man. "Captain Jack Harkness," he says, with a grin. "Thanks for the fruit, by the way. Just what sort of a flavor should I be expecting out of this thing, anyway?"

Edited 2011-05-11 17:14 (UTC)

"Right behind you, sorry!"

The crowds here, oh man. Rachel wasn't quite prepared for the number of people here and how closely pressed together they wind up being at some points. So much so near the far end of this stall that she had to turn sideways and risk bumping a man standing as she popped out between two other passers-by.

"My apologies," she says, offering a polite smile, "I didn't want to get in your way." She glances down at the vase he's holding. "Oh, that's pretty."

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Page 1 of 5

A day at the market! :: OPEN

Grocery Quarters

Food Quarters

Trade Quarters

A Dark Alley

Ad-Hoc Cockatrice Fighting Arena

Re: Grocery Quarters

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